Descendents of the Fair Folk
by writingaddict624
Summary: Ciena is the crown princess of her small realm, but then is pulled away by a supernatural force: not the Fair Folk, who died out long ago, but their descendents. There she learns of her own background and is given a task... which forces her to give up all
1. Chapter 1

_When I was twelve my chest would begin to feel tight when I was inside for too long; or maybe this began before that, but I used to have a little more freedom, so I could send more time outside. But at twelve I began to take a more active role in everything, which gave me considerably less time to myself. In the beginning it scared me out of my wits, though I never told anyone; even now, I lay my plans carefully so that it will not become disruptive. I can deal with it better, now; I no longer make a fool of myself by running outside in the middle of dinners to catch a breath of fresh air._

_I stumbled upon that solution quite by accident one night at a celebration in honor of the Queen's newly discovered pregnancy, her first since mine, twelve years before. The dishes had been cleared away and my father led her onto the dance floor. I remember thinking how radiant she looked that night, basking in the glow which I later learned envelopes every pregnant woman, at least in the beginning. I sighed, leaning forward, chin in hand, my elbow resting on my knee for a very unladylike pose. I shifted, trying to settle the tight bodice of my pink dress in a slightly more comfortable position, and failing miserably._

_At first I didn't notice the hand on my shoulder, but it increased its pressure and I looked up, blushing. He was only the son of a servant, but that servant was our head of household, and he was practically a brother to me, who had none. The face of the man in my primitive dreams of the future vaguely resembled his; but as I say, they were primitive dreams._

_"Ciena, may I have this dance?" he asked, for the most part solemnly. I nodded and stood up, hand in his; I knew that this was permitted, despite my father's advisors' disapproval, because before becoming a servant our head of household had been one of my father's best friends in the army, and when my father became king he had elected to stay in that fashion._

_My mother winked at me as the two of us stepped onto the slowly filling dance floor. I blushed again and looked down at Jason's steady feet, slowly letting go of my awkwardness and allowing him to carry me away. _

_It's so easy to reminisce and forget the ending… but I digress._

_The celebration dragged on for hours as well-meaning folk had their share, plus a bit, of wine – but don't judge me, I enjoyed every second of it, and I sincerely celebrated in my heart my mother's triumph after twelve long years of waiting. Jason, at seventeen, could have drunk the wine as well, had he chosen to; "But," he said laughing, "I have no wish to contribute to the mess I may have to clean up tomorrow morning." And that was that. _

_The stench of intoxication made me a little light-headed, and the dances seemed faster and fast, although I knew they were not. I spun around, laughing, and ended in Jason's arms; he squeezed my waist: his little sister. I stood there, catching my breath, one hand flat on my chest, waiting, but my breath wouldn't come. My chest was constricting; I panicked – it had only happened once or twice before, and always while I was alone. I stiffened and pressed my hand tighter against my chest, drawing a shuddery breath, but the feeling did not stop. Panic rather than pain caused my world to shrink until I was the only one in it, hearing only the roaring in my ears._

_"Ciena. Ciena." He shook me; I shook my head. Pushing myself off of him, as though I did not have enough momentum to walk on my own, my feet and my instinct led me outside to fresh air. I paused on the balcony for a moment and then clattered down the stone stairs to the cool earth. _

_I ended up half-kneeling on a stone bench in the garden, my breath and my chest returned to normal, only half-remembering how I got there. After a moment there were footsteps behind me and Jason lay a hand on my back. I turned my head toward him and smiled weakly, more scared than anything else. "Sorry," I said quickly before he could say anything but my name. "I just needed some… fresh air…"_

_And that's when it occurred to me that each instance had been solved by going out into the garden…_

_When I pondered it later that night, in bed, I realized each instance had been preceded by long amounts of time spent indoors. In the future I observed myself very carefully, treating my body as an experimental specimen when I was alone: depriving myself of the outdoors; going outside at regular intervals; even spending a night outside to see if it would allow me extra time indoors. (It didn't.) However, at the time this was just a curiosity. The full implications did not reveal themselves until many years later._

They call me Jayciena of the Golden Hair wherever you go. I do not care much for that extra title, but it never was my decision, and I always thought they could go on thinking I'm beautiful if they want to, as the title seems to imply. I wasn't. I was tall and plain and hopelessly insecure.

Those who are closer to me knew this and said I could be much more beautiful if I would just smile. Which I did. Just not often.

I smiled when there were things to smile about.

I sat in the garden, waiting. The sky was gray and overcast, but the ground was dry; the short stone wall marking the garden's borders was less than the toss of a stone away. The wall did not keep me in; nor did it keep others out, but it marked a boundary: here is your land, and here is ours. It was comforting because it was not huge and overpowering, but small and comfortable, only waist-high and a foot thick. Sometimes I met Thomas there; other times I climbed the wall and went to meet him on the other side.

It is surprising, as I look back, that I did not drop off the face of the earth when my brother was born. My father's advisors were satisfied with a male to carry on the line. Although by that time the law had required that females could indeed inherit, it was looked down upon more than words can say, and those long years when I was the only child gave the advisors some sleepless nights – and they in turn berated my poor mother with their soft and veiled tones. She tried her best to please them, even though I knew without words that she would not have minded a whit if I had been named heir. After he was born, the only difference was that I felt more free when talking with Jason, and later Thomas – I did not go any further, but I could feel that they would have allowed me to go further, if I had wanted. It no longer mattered, because I was not longer in their plans.

I saw a figure in the distance on the other side of the wall, growing nearer, but I wanted to be alone. I slipped down from the rock on which I sat, gazing into the open fields, and settled down comfortably in the shadow of the wall, leaning back against it. I was tall, but not so tall that my hiding place ceased to work; Thomas, if it was him, knew that if he did not see me, he should not come. What else he thought he knew was not my concern.

Gary was inside, sick, or else he might have been out here with me. That childhood simplicity which he had firmly held on to could be, I had found, a distraction from general gloom that was most welcome. But he was not there, and I was left alone with my thoughts, such that they were.

I sighed and absently rubbed the material of my skirt between my fingers. I was not always so unhappy. My moods change, and today I was alone, and my reflections are not always joyous. I smiled quite a bit, when I was younger, and I smiled after the war, too. But that was because I had to, because suddenly they cared about how I appeared again, and it took a long time to learn how to smile with meaning.

It is a strange place, where I have grown up. Our country is small and tucked away, and there is rarely trouble. In fact, one would think that such a nation would be quickly conquered by a neighbor, and it is rather strange that we haven't. However, my family is a stubborn one, and we never let go of what we claim is ours, no matter what it is. Then again, there are stories of old battles, in which our enemies were miraculously defeated by an alliance of us humans and the ancient Fair Folk. Surprisingly enough, these stories have worked to our defense for years, even though there has been no sign of the Fair Folk in living memory; and whenever a commander becomes a little too inquisitive, we manage to stave him off.

The population of our little country is decent enough for its size, but the people are very spread out and fiercely independent. Perhaps because of this, the castle I grew up in contained a bare minimum of people: perhaps thirty servants, forty including their children, a skeletal guard – a full barracks was barely a mile away, in case of need – the families of five or ten of my father's advisors, and us. The castle was not heavily fortified, either, and it would fall within days of a siege – but that would require an army getting this far without our knowledge, and those few days would allow our escape by various pre-planned routes, anyway. Because of the nature of our country, my father's spy system was highly advanced. And despite the independence of our people, they were also loyal, and would unite to fight hard until death for their freedom.

It is rather surprising that Mother and Father decided to live here, instead of at the castle Berdow down the road a bit. But we have never been threatened, not any more than any other human being, and I enjoy our castle Harpryre much more. Perhaps it is the freedom, for I know that my childhood was unrestricted in a way that no other child, peasant or princess, has available. In our small court, it was permitted that I play with the children of servants, at least when I was a child, simply because no other children were around. As we grew, I knew these relationships were increasingly frowned on by my father's advisors, but my father never spoke of it to me, and neither did my mother. This would only highlight her seeming inability to have another child, which I realized later caused her great shame, but I was too young before Gary's birth to honestly notice such a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

_When Mother was pregnant everybody wanted it to be a boy, although very few said so in my presence; but I knew it anyway. I didn't really mind, so much; there wasn't anything I or anybody else could do about it, either, so I saw no pint in fretting about it. However, I will say this: Father took me aside one day, near the end, and promised (in a very quiet voice) that, no matter what the future might hold, he would set aside for me a stretch of land with one of the houses that had been passed down through his family, so that I would always have a place I knew I would be welcome. For this I was glad._

_Within a week or two of said conversation, it came time for the baby. Father, along with all other men, was expelled from Mother's rooms – the whole side of the house, really. I was allowed to be present as long as I sat quietly on a stool against the wall and carried linens back and forth when needed. During this ordeal my respect for my mother and women in general increased several times over. It seemed to me a hard birth, but it was my first one and the women assured me later that it was no harder than usual, although it was no easier, either. I saw – albeit from a distance – my mother's sweat and tears and scarlet blood, but the distance did nothing to soften her cries. However, I carried out my tasks dutifully, and watched from the side of the basin as one of my mother's closest handmaids washed the child. And I verified with my own eyes, before anybody outside the room was notified, that it was, indeed, a boy._

_The women wrapped him loosely in a blanket and laid him in the crook of Mother's arm as I stood beside the bed, looking on with as much dignity as I could muster. Mother smiled up at me, radiant and tired. "Go ahead," she said. "Hold him. Take him out to your father."_

_I never questioned the selflessness that allowed her to give up such an honor: showing a proud father his first son. Instead, I reached down and picked up the tiny sleeping weight, only allowing my excitement to show in my smile and in my eyes, and made a slow two-person procession out of her rooms and down the hall. My brother and I, for the first time._

_Father was waiting anxiously, and behind him other men of the household: advisors, servants, a diplomat or two, Jason and his father. I beamed with pride as I presented the bundle to my father. "Your son," I said, and I swear there were tears in his eyes as he took the baby from me with something approaching reverence._

_From that time onward things changed around our small court, but the changes were subtle. I was allowed slightly more freedom; or, one or two of the excuses I gave were accepted more readily than they would have been, had my brother not been born. I was treated with no less deference, per say, but even at that age I could detect the change in the air as my father's advisors spoke to me, the change that comes when one realizes one's plans will not depend on the questionable abilities of another. I did not particularly mind. My days were pleasant and my worries bearable. My brother grew, and I often acted as his nursemaid; my only other companions were children of the servants, and they were often busy._

_Once or twice I took little Gary behind the grounds and through the gate out into the meadow behind our castle. On the other side of the meadow was a farm; from a distance, Gary was fascinated by the two cows standing outside the barn. He laughed and clapped his hands. We lay in the grass, because I knew in my heart that he must grow up to have some memories of such things; he would have scant time once his tutors began to whisk him away. So I made it my mission to give him as many such memories as I could. It bothered me not that, at the time, he was only two and would not remember that afternoon._

_Of course, we could not lose all dignity, because one of the servants, an ex-soldier, sat on the low wall of the castle to watch over us, but we compensated. I ticked him with a blade of grass, and with my hair; he giggled. I couldn't understand why anyone would give up opportunities like these; but then, I was young._

_He trundled off, though I stayed where I was, content to watch his whereabouts. He looked at me over his shoulder for a moment and giggled to himself, then ran as fast as his stubby legs could take him towards the farm. I unfolded myself from the ground and set off after him, thinking he would come to no real harm. I caught up and grabbed his shoulder mere feet from where one of the cows stood watching him. It blinked lazily. Gary struggled with all his baby strength to pull free, but I held firm._

_Just then the barn door opened and a boy my age walked out. He stopped as soon as he saw us and then nodded his head uncertainly. "G'day," he said._

_"G'day," I responded awkwardly. "Gary here just ran off and – I'm sorry, we'll be leaving now." I turned to go, propelling Gary in front of me. _

_"It's okay," he assured me quickly, reaching out on impulse to touch my shoulder. "I can show him the cow." He leaned forward and took Gary's hand. "Look," he said. "Her name is Bessie."_

_As soon as the boy's hand closed over Gary's, a sharp voice cut in behind us. "Hands off him, please," the servant who had followed us said, throwing in the 'please' only for appearance's sake. The boy and I flinched as if struck; I had not realized we had been followed._

_"Sorry," he mumbled, backing away. The servant barely even glanced at him as he gestured that I pick my brother up. "We'll be going now," he said. I nodded, abashed, and followed him, giving the boy one last fleeting glance. I'm sure that my expression matched his._

_It did not fully occur to me until years later that the servant had said nothing when the boy touched my shoulder. By that time I had learned to feel sour upon the realization._

_It hardly affected Gary, though. He smiled and clapped his hands together over my shoulder. "Moo," he said. "Moo." His first word._

_Now, I do not know what I would have done without Gary in those following months. It began slowly enough, and innocently: the men that I determined were spies – by process of elimination, as I could tell what they were not – began to trickle into Harpryre. My father spent hours locked away in a room talking with them and his advisors, and their foreheads were creased when they came out. I knew, for Mother told me, and the gaps that she purposefully left out were filled by Jason, that the spies brought stories of a man who wished to overthrow my father and take the throne. _

_Jason was of the opinion that he would never succeed. "Your family is too tenacious. The only way he could gain the throne would be to kill you all, which wouldn't happen, and even if it did, you would have cousins and second cousins revolting all over the place… and the people would be on our side, definitely." He trailed off at the end, almost raising it as a question, but not quite. _

_"Unless?" I prompted._

_He hesitated. "There are – other stories, less official, but reported all the same, that he possesses some odd sort of power that is… not normal."_

_"What kind of power?"_

_Again he hesitated. "I'm not quite sure. Little things, which could be viewed as mere coincidence, but it's always bad, for us, and it's always near him…"_

_"Could it be the Fair Folk?" They were the only nonhuman kind that I knew._

_He frowned. "Fair Folk – even allowing for exaggeration in the tales – were more powerful, and… couldn't resist grandeur and drama… theatrics, maybe. They weren't quite as subtle – not this way. But I don't know…"_

_"What else," I finished for him. "Well, I hope he is easily killed." The prospect of was unsettled me, in spite of or because I had no experience with anything like it. I was incredibly sheltered, here at Harpryre – I still am, but some of life has sought me our and found me here._

_"Yes." He paused, pensive. "Unhuman does not mean immortal, necessarily – and if he were immortal, I would think he'd be a bit more bold – but it requires certain measures of precaution."_

_"Which father won't do unless someone else convinces him, because he detests the thought of the supernatural."_

_"Well," he said. "Perhaps."_


	3. Chapter 3

_We all knew war was coming; it was obvious on the faces of the advisors, the soldiers, and my father. Even Mother's brow was often creased in worry, and I often sat with her in her rooms, for the comfort of having someone else beside me._

_It officially began that October, and my father rode out to his troops. He would not fight, for he was needed to oversee diplomats and overall strategy; even then, some said the real reason was because we could not afford to lose him. I knew this was true. He himself had come to the throne early, and not by direct inheritance, but by now the people loved him, and his death would threaten anarchy in our small country. My mother would try to take over, which I had no doubt she could capably do, but the men of the country would never allow such a thing to go on for long. It was becoming fashionable that countries allow their women nearly equal rights, and we followed suit, but the idea was not greeted with joy by many. Thus, by law we may have been equal, or very close to it, but in reality little of the old tradition had changed._

_Once father left, Harpryre ceased almost overnight to be such a hive of activity. Within a few days another group of soldiers came to defend us, and messengers rode almost daily for my mother, who took charge of the things that paled in comparison to the war but still had to be done. We also received letters from my father, which gave us both news and reassurances about his safety. Despite this, Harpryre seemed quiet compared to the flurry of activity leading up to his departure._

_He came back once or twice for a few days at a time, in those first few months, looking grayer than he ever had before. The third time, in February, he rode back with a larger entourage._

_That night the four of us sat in my mother's room, gathered around her great fireplace. Gary lay in my lap, head resting in the crook of my elbow, with heavy eyes as he fought sleep. My father's arm had long since wrapped around my mother's waist, and she leaned in to him. Even at 15, I knew more than anyone else how much it had hurt her to have him away, for she refused to let any sign of it show in front of others._

_He sighed, and looked faraway into the fireplace. "The war goes well," he said. "We seem to be winning. And yet…"_

_I wondered if he had changed his opinion about the enemy being unhuman._

_"Yet?" My mother questioned after a moment._

_He blew air out between his teeth in frustration. "Our losses pile up. Things go wrong. Heavens, we don't even know the man's real name!" He stood up and began to pace angrily. "We call him Mortha, but only for the sake of calling him something. He has never sent any communication to us. It is hard, sometimes, to know he is there at all, except that our men die, and they knew they've seen his troops. But as for him, nothing. Nothing at all."_

_My mother frowned. "That does not add up. Have you seen his troops? You yourself?"_

_"Aye, a few. They look normal enough, despite the rumors. They say he's unhuman."_

_I spoke up. "Might his troops be human? If he himself is not, he may have human followers, or he may have power over some to make them his."_

_"I've wondered that myself," he said, stopping and standing still. "But where would these people come from? I've looked, and I haven't found any place where he holds sway. Or where the people refuse to help me, or seem terrified at the thought of doing so."_

_He sighed again and growled tiredly, "The only thing I know is that I need more troops. More men. Starting here." He turned and looked at Gary, sleeping, and his face softened a little, but his words were for me. "All the boys that are old enough, and the men young enough. Ciena, Jason will have to go."_

_I looked at him without seeing a thing and went cold. After a few heartbeats, without even realizing I had opened my mouth, I spoke. "So be it." My words seemed to hang in the air, and echoed in my head, cold and frosty, though not spoken in anger. I stood up and nodded formally to both of them. "I must put Gary to bed. Good night."_

_My mother stretched out a hand to me, but I was already turning, and let the door close loudly behind me. I marched to Gary's room and handed him woodenly to his nurse, then fled._

_The next day I stood stiffly beside my mother as our people gathered in the Great Hall to hear what my father had to say. My features were schooled to blankness, and I concentrated on anything I could to keep my mind off of things. I felt, at the time, that I was being disobedient in letting it affect me so much. After all, he would probably come back, and after having earned his place, our friendship would not be looked down upon as much as it was now._

_The people had gathered, and Father began to speak. "My friends," he began, and although he used his king voice, it was the one that made everyone feel at ease, as though he were talking to them personally – the voice that made people love him. "I will speak to you frankly. The war goes well."_

_People smiled, and he looked around, then gave a tiny sigh. "I have missed being here," he added conversationally. "I have grown only to love it more in the time that I was away. Alas, in a week I must go back._

_"I told you that the war goes well, and that is the truth. But the truth is also that we have lost many men, and although I am reluctant, the bald fact is that we need more soldiers. Mortha is a strange enemy, but he will be defeated, with your help and God willing."_

_He did not mention that Mortha was not his real name, or that nobody had ever seen him or heard from him._

_"It is our freedom that is under attack, here, for if Mortha succeeded, have no doubt you would all be enslaved or killed. Together we must stave him off, or our country will be no more._

_"For this, I need the help of every able-bodied man between the ages of 16 and 40. We will leave a week from today, and you will undergo six weeks of intensive training to prepare you. With your help, we can win this war once and for all."_

_He paused as if trying to remember if he had anything more to say. "That is all. Thank you."_


	4. Chapter 4

3

_For the first day or so, I moved about automatically, feeling empty and drained. I knew that Jason's father was silently covering many of his jobs so as to free his son for this last week, for which we were both thankful._

_We sat in his small room on that second day, talking away from prying eyes. He said something, I don't remember what, and I nodded – and the next thing I knew he had me by the shoulders, shaking me, eyes angry. "Ciena!" he shouted. "Where are you?" _

_I looked at him steadily. "Right here, Jason."_

_He let go and whirled away, stomping the few steps to the other side of the room. "By God, I'm leaving in a few short days, and we can't even carry on a conversation. Look alive, girl. Act it. I'm not dead yet. I don't enjoy carrying on a conversation with myself." He turned and looked at me in disgust. "Are you even listening?"_

_Very, very slowly, I lowered my face into my hands. After a heartbeat, I said through my fingers, "I don't want you gone."_

_And then he was there, of course, with his arms around me, but he was implacable. "Of course I have to go," he said. "My father served me, and so must I. It will be okay."_

_I shook my head, but I never begged him to stay or asked him to write to me. We spent many hours talking, usually reminiscing about our childhood, very rarely about the future. I only prayed, when I was alone, that whatever gods were out there would keep watch over him._

_The night before they left, there was a banquet, and dancing. The mood was festive, but underneath that thin surface everyone was somber, and I at least felt the music understood this and added its cries to our own. We danced for a few hours, for our men needed their sleep, and the rate of wine flow was monitored for clear heads in the morning. Jason danced the obligatory dances with his own friends among the servants, and I danced with the sons of others. After those, though, he stayed with me. _

_The last song was different from the others; it was dark and wailing, haunting the faces of those around me, causing husbands to pull their wives a little closer. No one danced; we merely sat still, staring down at the floor, looking into our own hearts and feeling the pain we had suppressed all night. I wished I had Gary in my arms, so I could pull him close and be distracted by the scent of his hair. Instead, Jason sat beside me, not touching, his head bent so I could not see his face. I shifted a little and broke free of the spell, my gaze wandering over the still figures in the room. Finally I looked at the musicians, a traveling group I did not recognize, and one of them caught my gaze. He recognized me and gave a slow nod, though it was not a nod of greeting. It unsettled me, and I looked away._

_I sat outside for a while, that night, at first because I had been inside for far too long, but I soon realized I would have come out anyway. There is something inherently more comforting in dark earth, a breeze, and the stars than there is about carpets and a four-poster bed. I knew I was not the only one, and I concentrated on not hearing the whispered words of those others._

_At some point Jason came outside and found me. We sat in silence; his hands fiddled with a blade of grass. He turned suddenly and hugged me, fiercely, with more strength and a different kind of emotion than the brotherly love I had always felt previously. Looking back, I wonder how many of his glances I innocently failed to notice, and I wonder how I went so long without thinking that our relationship would further. At the time, though, I was flustered, caught unaware. His face was close to mine. "Give me a kiss," he said, voice low. "Just one. So I can remember."_

_I turned my head away, heart pounding. "No, Jason – this isn't what we are," I managed._

_"But it could be. They've let us this far."_

_By this time I was shaking. "No – you know it wouldn't-"_

_"Then they'll never know. Please. Just once. I'm leaving tomorrow."_

_If I had had time beforehand to think about it, I probably would have went along with him. But as it was, I couldn't think clearly. I pushed him away. "When you come back," I said unsteadily. "When you – when you return, safe-"_

_He turned away. "So be it."_

_After a long moment of silence, he said, "I'm sorry. I just-"_

_I laid a hand on his arm, almost ready to say I'm sorry, come back. "When you come back. I promise."_

_He nodded. "I'll see you in the morning. To say goodbye."_

_"Yes."_

_In the morning he was solemn, and deferential to me as princess in a way he rarely was. But just before they left, he pulled me into a hug that had only a small, carefully measured bit of the fervor of the night before, and I was able to look up at him and say clearly, "Be careful. Come home safe."_

_"I'll try," was all he said. "G'day, Ciena."_

_"G'day," I said, and watched him ride off with the others._


	5. Chapter 5

4

A maid walked brazenly towards me. Those who had been with us for long no longer felt the need for extra ceremony, and I did not care, although I knew some others do. She stopped before she reached me and called out softly, "Jayciena? Princess?"

I stood up, more gracefully than usual. "Yes?"

"Gary is calling for you."

I stepped towards her immediately and we headed back to the castle. "How is he?"

She hesitated. "Not very well, Princess," she said. "He tosses and turns in his fever and can hardly rest."

I frowned. "Is Maude attending to him?"

She dipped her head. "Aye. The Queen is there as well."

I nodded and thanked her, dismissing her to whatever work she has to do.

Gary's room was dark despite the open curtains. Maude sat beside the small bed, bathing his face in cool water; his cheeks were flushed, and his blond curls were tousled and sweaty. My mother, however, was nowhere to be seen. Maude looked up as I entered and nodded in greeting. "He called for you," she said. "Don't know if he hears us now."

I stood on the other side of his bed and took his hand. She was right; his small body radiated heat and I doubted he could hear me. "Gary," I sid anyway. "I'm here."

Maude stood up, arching her old back to stretch, and looked at him critically. After a moment she looked at me with that same calculating gaze and pursed her lips as if about to speak, but then stopped and shook her head.

I looked over at her questioningly, but she did not respond. Typical Maude. She was with my mother when she first met my father, and has been with us ever since; she has chosen to disregard all formalities and none have opposed her in this. Her history was unknown to me, but she had always been here, solid as a rock, and utterly dependable. She had nursed us all back to health, and if people didn't recognize everything in her brews, they said nothing. And thus, here, she felt no obligation to say anything.

"Where is Mother?" I asked.

"Resting," she grunted. "High time, too. She's been here for hours."

I suddenly felt the need to defend her. "This is her only son. You can't blame her."

"I know your mother better than you do, young lady, so don't go there. If she's going to act this way through every childhood fever…" She trailed off, and somehow, don't ask me why, I felt that she was uncertain.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said.

"It's just a fever," I said, to see her reaction. But she's good, she didn't budge, only grunted: "Yes."

Nevertheless her tone set me on edge a little, and while my trust in her ability kept a lid on my anxiety, I could feel it bubble up every now and then. "I'll stay with him for a while," I said. "Go rest."

I knew she must be exhausted, because otherwise she would not hand me her cloth without a fight – a fight that she would probably win. Maude does not often lose verbal spars, especially with anyone she quietly considers herself above. Like me. I may have been the princess, and she did respect me for that, but I was also just a person. Many – most – forget that, which is always encouraged by guards and advisors, but not Maude.

After Maude left, I felt very alone in the room, even though I knew I had only to cry out and someone would come running in. The only sound was the rustle of water when I dipped the cool cloth in it, and the squash when I twisted the cloth above the bowl and water poured out. To avoid the silence I told Gary a story, even though he gave no indication of hearing me.

"Once upon a time," I began softly, "this land was ruled by magic, and those who ruled were those who wielded it the strongest, so with every generation came a new king, as the reigning king grew weaker and the youngsters grew stronger…

"The king at this time was named Donard, and he was a good king, who was fair and kind to all his subjects, be they Fair Folk or sorcerers or witches or Tanalions, which means "wizard lion" in the language of the Fair Folk, which they all shared. The Tanalions weren't all lions, either; they were all those curious creatures that looked like normal cats or voles or horses or lions or whatever but acted different… like they had a little fairy blood in them. Which they did, but that's another legend.

"Anyway, Donard was getting old, and he was afraid of what would happen to his kingdom if he was defeated, especially by a young, hotblooded wizard named Illon. Donard thought and thought of how he could keep his rule safe until his own son, seven years younger than Illon, would grow in power and take over. He knew already that his own son was calmer and steadier and more _good_ than Illon, and that he would be able to keep the kingdom safe.

"One day a spy came back – for, like today, the king had a spy system – with a very strange story. He said there was a new breed of dwellers building themselves homes with their hands on the edge of a forest near the kingdom's border. They knew of magic, of course – everybody did – but ignored it as best they could. They were steady, said the spy, and reliable, and very, very persistent. If a gust of magic blew one of their houses down, they would rebuild it on the same spot the very next day.

"Nobody knew what to make of this new breed, and eventually it was confirmed that they had no magic. Word of this spread like wildfire, for such a thing was unheard of. But, of everyone, Donard was the only one who thought that perhaps he could use that very fault to his advantage, and so he offered them his welcome and protection in return for their service. He called them humans.

"They were very useful, for they were looked down upon and considered stupid – which they were not – so they could find out things his other spies could not. Some spells, it was found, did not affect them because they had no magic of their own. They were also devious, Donard found out, and began using a few as his advisors.

"Because of these people, Donard was able to hold Illon off for five years. By the sixth year, Illon was worried that Donard's son would succeed, so he redoubled his attacks. The two sides fought for a year and a half, and Donard grew older until he could not defend himself much longer. So he called on his subjects to join him for one last great attack on Illon.

"His subjects flocked to his side, and Illon drew his own followers – young ones, outcasts, grotesque figures that others spurned, and with good reason. It was a battle of magic, and the humans were of no use, so they stood on a nearby hilltop, watching the colored flashes and sparks. It was a spectacular sight, and the battle went on for days and days, until finally no one was left standing but the prince. The king had died.

"The humans, horrified and devastated at the loss of their king, could only walk to the battlefield and care for the injured as best their magicless hands could do. They cared for both sides, for the females among them insisted, and among the injured they found Illon. Illon refused to be treated, but asked to see the prince, who came to him. He asked the prince for a parcel of land, a small bit on the edge of the kingdom, and the prince felt sorry for him and agreed. Illon, with a few of his followers, left that very day.

"The followers that he had left behind were all found dead the next morning, despite the humans' ministrations.

"The prince took a human wife, and their children were consequently only half as powerful as he. But it did not matter, for with the passing of the Great Battle, little magic was left in the land. Of Illon, no one has heard, but his land is still independent of our own. You and I are descended from Donard, little one. That story is ours."

I laughed a little. "But don't tell Father. He doesn't like those stories. According to them, the magic has all but died out now, it is so diluted by human blood. He prefers to think it does not exist at all. That is why he hates this – this war so much, because the things the enemy does are barely credible for… for a man."

I swallowed and turned away. "But that doesn't concern you," I whispered. "Just get well. Then Mother will not be so worried, and neither will Maude or I or anyone really, but especially Mother. She cannot bear another weight upon her shoulders. She has to be strong for Father."

I looked up and noticed that the sky has grown darker; it must have been nearing dinnertime. Gary was asleep, and for once did not thrash about. I waited, hearing hurried footsteps go up and down the hall outside, but no one came for me. I wondered what was going on outside, and knew I could call for a maid to stay with Gary, but I did not. Instead I waited for the summons that never came, until the sky turned dark and I fell asleep curled in the chair.


	6. Chapter 6

4

I woke up later in my own bed with the sun streaming through the windows, where someone had pulled the curtains back. It was oddly quiet. I clambered out of bed and found that I was still dressed as I was the previous night, and there was a crick in my neck from falling asleep in the chair. I wondered who, and when, moved me here.

As soon as I stepped out of my room a maid scurried up, obviously waiting for me. She dipped a quick curtsy – she's new – but began almost before she had finished, saying, "You're to go directly to the Dining room as soon as you're fresh. Breakfast is waiting for you."

I nodded my thanks and stepped back into my room. I checked my hair and was about to change when I realized she did not tell me to go to the Formal, where we generally ate. The only time we used the smaller Dining room was when it was only the four of us…

Which meant that either something very strange was going on, or Father was home. Curiosity overcame me. I patted my hair once more and then left for the Dining room.

I stepped inside, nodding my thanks to the guard who opened the door for me, and saw that I was right: Father was home. He and Mother looked up at the sound of the door, and he stood up when he saw me, motioning Mother to stay seated. I hugged him and kissed Mother's cheek before sitting down beside them. "You're home," I said.

"Aye," he said. "We got in late yesterday evening. Apparently we were unexpected, although we did send advance messengers…" He frowned.

"I'm sorry," Mother said anxiously. "He probably came and went, but I've been so busy I haven't had time to get to-"

"Don't worry, my dear," he replied soothingly, and his glance at me said he had noticed the lines on her forehead and the circles under her eyes. "I was not implying any fault of yours. I was only wondering if the enemy is closer than we think, and my messenger did not get here at all."

"Only?" I said bitterly, raising an eyebrow.

He ignored my remark. "I met with your mother and some others last night. She told me about Gary – the parts I hadn't heard already, from her letters – and we came in to see him around midnight. We found you alone with him, asleep."

Somehow I felt a slight reproach in his words: I alone had been in charge of the prince, and I had fallen asleep. I hung my head slightly; he touched my shoulder.

"No matter. I carried you back to your own room."

That answers that question.

"Tell her your news," prompted Mother.

"Ah," he said, and leaned back in his chair expansively. "Well, Ciena, it looks as if we might win this war after all. We had a major skirmish about a month ago and we've hardly seen them since."

I just looked at him. "You think it's going to be that easy?" I asked incredulously after a pause. "You've been fighting all this time and one day they just – disappear?" My chest was beginning to hurt, and I realized I had not been outside in eighteen hours.

He sent me a warning look; my mother massaged her temples. "Ciena," he said quietly, "it has not been easy. No one said it was easy. My soldiers and I have seen – things – sights – that gave us terrible dreams and made us ache for our families. It has been very, very difficult, and all the more so because we are not used to war."

_We are not used to war_. I put my hand on my chest, trying to soothe the insistent, angry pains. I changed tactics. "So once, as you say, the enemy vanishes, will it be enough for you? Or will you send more men off to vanquish any left behind, and leave Mother to do your work? How many is it now? How many dead?"

He exchanged a look with Mother, who nodded once and closed her eyes. "I did not send him off to die," he said softly.

I pressed my hand closer against my chest, but it did not help; the pain was getting worse; I had not had this problem in quite a while, and I was sure it was not this bad the last time. "How many is enough? Enough to do the dirty work of a man who doesn't even believe his opponent is magic because he can't bear to think of someone with powers greater than his own!" I threw this last one at him knowing it was only partially true and ran almost blindly to the door.

"Ciena!" he said, iron in his voice, the voice that would stop me except that I could barely breathe and the thumping pain had expanded to fill my torso. With shaking fingers I opened the door and heard him saying, "We tried. Ciena, you do not know how hard we tried."

I ignored him and ran down the hallway, trying to find my way outside. The roaring in my ears filled my head and I could not tell if anyone is following me. My whole world was pounding – and then I burst outside, into the clean air, and collapsed on the ground a few steps from the stairs. My breath was ragged and slow, painfully slow to return to normal.

_I was in the garden on the other side of the castle when they came. It was overcast, and I was planting carrots. We had heard them come in the gate on the other side, of course, but I thought nothing of it. I knew Mother would call me if it was important. _

_So I was surprised to see the messenger step outside into the garden. I stood up, wiping the dirt from my skirt, and looked at him questioningly. "Princess," he said, then hesitated._

_"Yes?" My heart was beating faster, although I did not know what was coming, even then._

_"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such news," he said bluntly. "The Queen thought I ought to tell you personally. Jason is dead."_

_I sunk to my knees with excruciating slowness, and then rested my palms on the fresh soil. My mind was completely blank and no thought formed in my head, but I felt a ripping sound and a greater pain, an emptiness and grief and horror, than I had ever imagined. I can still recall it perfectly, and feel it on occasion, and then I collapse and can do nothing until it subsides._

_I heard somebody behind me, and to this day I know not if I made any sound, because I have never talked about that day to anyone. I remember little after that, except for my mother's arms around me on the ground, and walking around without knowing what I was doing. I remember – that day, or another – standing outside in the rain, face upturned, hoping it would fill me, fill the hole I still carry inside. Alas, it helped only little._

I sat outside, taking forced breaths, and my face was wet. I had not looked Father in the eye since that day. Luckily he had not been home, and I was able to slowly reassemble some pieces of my life, with the shaking hand of a tiny girl, or at least jam them together to form a brittle shell. Alongside Jason's father, I became less of a ghost, and learned to smile on cue. But every smile felt, and still feels, sometimes, like a betrayal.

"Ciena." Father stood behind me. I was surprised he followed; it should be beneath his dignity. I did not respond.

"Ciena," he said again, more sternly. "Look at me."

I stared defiance in his eyes, half wild still in fear from whatever it was that afflicted me. The other half was buried grief, dragged out of its safe spot by the sight of my father. For Jason did not die of normal battle. No, he died at the hands of Mortha's magic. And if Father had chosen to believe in that magic, Jason would be beside me today.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N – Sorry, lovely readers, for taking so long. I was still writing, but I was trying to figure out this whole verb tense thing once and for all (still haven't). Now, the italicized parts are memories. Nothing else really changed, so if you just start here, you're fine… it's just in a different tense. **

_They had told me that very same night, while we sat, all of us, servants and those guards not on duty and anyone else, numbed by the news and held together only by the warm, solid flesh on our right and on our left. They told us in plain, simple terms while we stared down into our cups. "He was on guard duty. They were posted in pairs, and his area was flat, with little room for the enemy to hide. He was with a veteran, Jack, and they were both wide awake, Jack says. There was no room for the enemy to hide, but then it just – appeared._

_"Jack was no fool," said the messenger to no one in particular. "He knew what he was doing. They – it – could have never crept up to them. But it got there, just the same._

_"It was a bit larger than a tall man, Jack said, black and shifting. He was a bit strange when he told us. But it pointed to the young'n and mumbled something, the gist of which, as best we can figure out – it wasn't entirely our language – was, She must go. He didn't say who 'she' was, but Jack thinks young Jason figured it out right before – right before. But then the creature turned to Jack and said something along the lines of, Stay and tell. Then it reached out and touched Jason's lips, and there was a white glow around the boy, and then he crumpled. Jack saw the creature – 'dissolve' was the word he used. Fade. The boy was dead. Jack related it as best he could."_

_Again, the messenger said, "I'm sorry."_

_Mother murmured, "It's not your fault," and everyone stared into his or her lap._

_After a moment, Maude said softly, "There is something larger at work here." It was quiet and her voice carried so all heard, but nobody asked what she meant._

_"Where is this Jack?" asked Jason's father with difficulty, looking up. I clenched my fingers at the sight of his face as he struggled to control his grief._

_The messenger looked away, over the tops of our heads. "He killed himself the next day," he said finally._

"Ciena," my father said again, more for himself than for me. His voice broke. "Please. I could do nothing. I tried everything I could try, and failed. Please understand. I did not mean him to die."

At his pleading voice I covered my face with my hands. "He's not coming back," I said, voice muffled.

"I know."

"You don't understand," I said, turning away a little. "When he came back – if only for a visit – there was something he wanted, that I needed to give him, but it was not ready-"

"And now it's too late," he said softly, and held open his arms. "Ciena. Darling." Before I knew what was happening I leaned into his chest, crying anew. But this time the tears are accompanied by something new – something cleansing. Like the hole in my heart, after months of being suppressed, had finally been acknowledged.

When they left again, I decided to seek out Thomas. I dressed simply and tried to avoid being seen, but I knew that my actions were noted and simply tolerated, no more. I felt a twinge of guilt as I crossed the meadow, knowing I should remain behind and care for Gary, but I tried to ignore it. I deserved a few hours to myself.

I opened the barn door just enough to let myself in and was immediately confronted. Thomas stepped into my path, eyes hard. I saw them relax when he identified me, but he quickly scowled again. "Ciena. You should not have come."

"Why?" I queried, stepping past him. "I have not seen you lately."

He crossed his arms and turned to face me, but stayed where he was. "Your enemies are closer than you think," he said. "I've heard them out there, nights. You don't realize your own importance."

I shake my head impatiently. "I have a brother. That demotes me beyond recognition."

He shrugged. "And your brother is…?"

I sighed. "Still sick." I sat on the mound of hay stacked against the wall. "And getting no better."

Finally he softened and came to sit beside me. He was careful around me, careful to keep a physical distance in a way that he never had been before; it had been so every since the news of Jason's death. The thought of a male touch sickened me then; now, it aroused a feeling of betrayal, that I might give another what I could not give him. Today, though, I long for a human touch, and so I lean carefully closer toward him, until my head barely rests in the crook of his elbow. He becomes very still.

"Father thinks we're winning," I say. Thomas grunts noncommittally. "I hope they end it soon. The price is too high, and Mother cannot go on the way she has been…"

"Mortha is a strange enemy."

I nod and swallow: _Father detests the thought of the supernatural_. "I think my father is learning to change his mind."

"One would hope," came the reply. "We have lost enough because of it…"

"I know," I say, throat dry but voice steady. I cast around for a different subject. "How are you – here? Safe?"

He shrugs. "Mostly. We're close enough to the castle to be relatively safe… far enough away to be in danger."

I heard the crunch of boots outside, and knew it was not Thomas' family. We both stiffened as we heard voices: the low, angry, guttural sound of a soldier and the fainter sound of Thomas' mother. Our eyes locked and I saw my own fear reflected in his. He threw his arms around me in a quick, fierce hug and impulsively kissed my cheek. His next move, I knew, would be hiding me, but it was too late – the barn door was flung open and we were momentarily blinded, clinging to each other.

"Princess," said one coldly after a long moment, and I relaxed as I recognized the voice of the guard. "You should not be here. Step away."

I had slumped a little and backed away in acquiescence, but at his last words I stiffened once more and grabbed hold of Thomas' hand. "Why?" I challenged. "What authority have you?"

"The Queen's authority," said the other grimly, striding over to take hold of my shoulders and wrench me away.

I held my chin up. "Then there is no need for violence-"

"You should not be associating with the likes of him anyway," interrupted the first, with a rough jerk of the head in Thomas' direction. "You are a princess. Act like one."

My face grew hot. "You have not cared before!" I cried. "Why do you do so now?" But even as I said it, my belly found the answer and I grew cold.

"The Crown Prince is near death," said the second guard harshly. "He cried for you while he was conscious, but you were nowhere to be found. Now, nobody knows where his spirit wanders."


	8. Chapter 8

The gnawing sensation spread over my whole body. Thomas stepped toward me in concern, but I barely noticed, and said distantly, "Well, then, we'd better be going." The next thing I knew I was running across the meadow, skirts billowing out and being tugged by the wind, as if trying deliberately to send me crashing to the ground. The moments were long as I climbed the low wall and dashed inside, running recklessly down the halls with my hair threatening to tumble down behind me. I stopped in his doorway, leaning against it, trying to quiet my noisy breathing. The room was crowded, but I pushed my way to the front, where he lay deathly still on the bed. But I was not too late.

I crouched down beside him, ignoring the disapproving looks of others, and took his hot, limp hand. "Gary," I whispered in his ear. "I'm here." His fair curls, plastered to his head in sweat, did not stir.

And yet, he did not die that night. I was sent to my room by a stern-faced woman, and this time I did not argue. I could neither sleep nor stay awake, and in the end I curled up in a chair with a pillow against my chest and dozed, never quite asleep enough to stop having occasional conscious thoughts. Nevertheless, when I got up early the next morning, the pillow was wet with tears I did not remember crying.

He held on until late in the afternoon; everyone save Father, who was away, gathered around his bed. All afternoon he had struggled to breathe, and even as I mourned I felt a small sense of relief as his features relaxed and a hint of a smile appeared on his peaceful features. This time I did not cry. I set my face to stone and buried myself in housework; for some reason I felt easier when working beside Jason's father. My mother floated from room to room like a wraith, and I, along with most others, tried to avoid seeing her. However, that was less possible for me.

The next night I sat in her room, sewing halfheartedly while she gazed at the fire in the fireplace. From time to time she would get up and wander around, touching things, as if to steady herself in the physical world. "I wrote your father," she said at one point, voice soft and thready.

"Will he be coming?" I asked, although I already knew that he was.

"Yes," she said after a moment, voice distant. "Yes, I believe a messenger said so."

I frowned; that messenger had come with a reply in father's own handwriting. I told myself she was in shock, an understandable state, but could not help offhandedly mentioning it to Maude.

"Yes," she said, frowning. She started to speak, stopped, and then said abruptly, "I shall make a drink for her."

After a few days the shock that had rocked the entire household began to subside, and the advisors still at home who had taken over for Mother remembered that they were angry with me. At first I was told housework was not fir for the Crown Princess, and sent to my room to change into a more reasonable dress. Then I was given excuses why I should stay there. Finally, a jolly-looking counselor stood in my doorway and said, words harsh despite his appearance, "For years we have looked past your behavior. You shamed us again and again as you consorted with those below you, but we called it childhood. We blinked, and realized you are a woman, and there is no remedy but to forcibly separate you, for you will not comply with our orders."

As he spoke, I found myself staring at his perpetually smiling face, trying to reconcile his words with his looks. But he kept on: "Our men say they caught you wrapped around that peasant boy like a common whore. Heaven knows what you did with that servant. It is our fault for not correcting you, but that changes now. You will stay here in your rooms, alone but for one woman, and you may come out only for the funeral. We have spoken with the Queen, and she has agreed that something must be done."

I was standing now, cheeks flushed and shaking with rage. "A common whore?" I spat, taking a step forward. "You dare call me a common whore? I have never," – another step – "_ever _so much as _kissed _another!

"_And_," I continued, "My mother would never consent to such a thing! But she is not right in her mind and you know it, and that is why you take advantage of her!" I was nearly face to face with his little smile now. I forced myself to suddenly appear calm and said sweetly, "But as a sign of my good will, send Annette to me, and I will do as you say."

He nodded, showing small signs of being flustered.

I allowed iron in my voice as I said, "Good." Then, barely realizing what I was doing, I reached out and slapped him across the face.


End file.
